ehowton (ehowton) wrote,


I'm inside a bubble, peering out. Trying to discern if what I see reflected on its smooth surface is the past, the present, or the future. Are they true reflections of me as I am - what I now have, who I am currently? Or are they visions of who I'm supposed to be? Am I looking out toward a mirrored surface or is it simply one-way glass? I fear a future in which I fear a past which has not yet transpired. Saddled with doubts about the truth of a different path. Is it more courageous to change, or to withstand?

Its safer in the bubble, or so I tell myself. My picture-perfect life both a joy and a strain, but at least I know the words to each and every refrain. There's a certain comfort in the known, despite my curiosity of the world on the other side. I long to crack its surface and peek through. What I may see both frightens and exhilarates me. I fear missing out on what might be at the expense of not recognizing what's right in front of me; I torture only myself in this game of what-ifs. Seeking knowledge, seeking happiness, seeking bliss.

I'm torn between two dissimilar desires, two dissimilar me's; equal in draw and power, equal in ambiguity. Does the curve of the bubble distort the truth - either intrinsically or what appears outside its shell? Surely conflict arises in our individual perceptions of what is real rather than reality itself, but too many colliding variables make for messy math. I reject the notion that choice has to come down to wholly all or nothing, but standing alone in the midst of that belief changes not the equation.

T'would be foolish to discard an illusion of mediocrity for an illusion of mediocrity of a different color, but how can one truly know what's in their soul until its been exposed and gone over? This battle I fight alone every night, this battle in my bubble - and I'll never give in, I'll never submit as long as there are winners or losers. Those who gaze upon me see only what they want to see, a prismatic display of light; each frequency attuned to the receiver's own tune not recognizing my other, equally breathtaking colors.

The faster I spin the more whole I seemingly become as discernability fades into one another, right bleeding into wrong, blurring the lines of demarcation and I lose myself in the process. I fear fear. If I stop too abruptly its all been for naught, but at some point the resonance will shatter - and once for and for all, for better or for worse, perhaps then my life will matter.
Tags: poem

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